


The Rift Between Worlds

by OctoberSkies



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Mentions of Death, Mild Language, Pride Demons (Dragon Age), Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 15:45:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5010502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OctoberSkies/pseuds/OctoberSkies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Upon hearing from one of Leliana's scouts that there is a large, very active rift in the Storm Coast, Inquisitor Riven and her brother go to investigate with a group of their closest misfits. However, when they arrive, they are met not only by a flood of demons, but a lone mage, struggling desperately to hold back the tide, even if it kills her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rift Between Worlds

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone would happen to like visual references, OCs Varlen Lavellan and Anacrea Trevelyan belong to me (thereluctantinquisitor on tumblr, tagged under their respective names), and the lovely Riven Lavellan is Chaitea09s (who is also on tumblr)!

                 _"Maker_ , this humidity is bordering on insulting. Someone should really do something about it, for the sake of _hygiene_ ." Dorian grumbled, dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief that he kept tucked away _somewhere_ on his being. Between gestures, the mage's grey-blue eyes flicked over to The Iron Bull, whose torso was glistening with pearls of sweat beneath the thick sunlight that seemed to hang in the air.

                "Maybe you Qunari have it right, what with your complete disregard for upper-body attire."

                "Well someone's gotta put on a show, _right Boss_?" Iron Bull made a point of flexing one massive arm as they walked, the muscles bulging impressively beneath the leather binding of his chest-piece. Riven, upon hearing her title, glanced back and laughed, shaking her head like a parent bemused by the antics of children.

                “Oh _of course_.”

                “How else would we survive such an _exciting_ _expedition_?" Varlen’s deep voice chimed in, low and morose as he trudged along slightly ahead of his twin sister. He was only leading courtesy of his long legs, rather than any kind of actual enthusiasm. If anything, he could be described as a walking raincloud.

                Bull, for his part, grunted in pleased agreement, and lowered his arm to a resting position, but not before casting a smug glance over at Dorian, who was pointedly avoiding eye-contact with the hulking Qunari. Varlen could practically hear the mage mentally listing off insults in Tevene, and shook his head as he continued to forge ahead. Varric, for once, was being unusually quiet, trumping along with Bianca slung lazily across his back.

                “ _Ma’lin_ , wait…” Riven had paused mid-stride, her brow furrowed, as though she had suddenly been struck by a profound or worrying realisation. Varlen turned back, tilting his head in silent query. After a moment, Riven swallowed and glanced up, her once fully blue eyes still alarmingly green to her twin brother. She hesitated slightly, as though uncertain.

                “Something feels… wrong. With the mark.” Riven murmured, holding her hand before her and flexing the palm, clenching and unclenching as though the action might somehow sooth the sensation. Varlen’s eyes instantly locked with Dorian’s, who picked up his pace to catch up with the Inquisitor. Gently, the mage took her hand in his, examining it with nimble fingers. It was glowing, but only ever so faintly along the lines of her palm, like green magma flowing beneath cracked rock.

                "Well?" Varlen demanded anxiously as he fell back to join the others, who had gathered around his sister with varying degrees of concern. The abruptness of his tone clearly displeased the Tevinter, who glanced up at him with brief yet critical swiftness before returning his attention to Riven's palm.

                "It appears to be activating - or at least, trying to. I'd wager we are nearing that rift your Spymaster informed us of." Dorian's matter-of-fact tone was strangely reassuring, and Varlen felt a slight weight ease off his chest. "Does it feel any different than usual, Inquisitor?"

                "No... it's just, normally I need to be a lot closer before it starts up." Riven frowned and took her hand back from the mage, but not before flashing a warm smile around her gathered companions as thanks for their concern.

                "We can't even see the rift yet," Varric commented, squinting into the distance that was blocked by a steep, foliaged incline, "and I'm not really looking forward to trying to get up _that_."

                "Want me to carry you?" Varlen leaned down to the dwarf's level, arms clasped behind his back, the cheeky smile on his face hovering at a perfect distance to be slapped off. Luckily Varric wasn't the type.

                "Snowy, you ever try to pick me up and I'll send you on a date with Bianca here."

                "Oh, and here I thought you and her were _exclusive_." A smirk played across Varlen's face as he straightened and began heading directly for the hill that blocked their path. Riven began to follow suit, but not before tossing a look of friendly concern at Varric.

                "You can always wait at the bottom while we check it out. There might be an easier way around?"

                "Nah, it's alright," Varric sighed, hooking his fingers into his belt and hiking his breeches up in a no-nonsense manner, "I've trekked through worse, Chills, _believe me_."

                "Oh I do." Riven smiled, the almost constant drizzle of the Storm Coast beginning to fall once again, beading upon her silver hair like dewdrops.

                A fond smile crossed Varric's face as he looked up at the Inquisitor. "Thanks though. Now, how about we catch up to that idiot brother of yours before he falls and breaks a leg or two?"

                Riven blinked, before following the dwarf's gaze to the incline. Varlen was already half-way up it, somehow managing to find the most tenuous footholds and maintain balance on them. Bull stood down the bottom, arms by his side but tense - ready to shoot out and try to catch Varlen should he misstep. Dorian, for his part, was standing a few paces back, simply watching with a bemused smile on his face, hands planted on his hips.

                Varlen, now three-quarters of the way up, glanced down at the group, noticing Riven begin her own ascent.

                "Come on - it's not that hard!" He laughed, hoisting himself upwards with another smooth motion. "The sooner you start, the sooner you'll be up here!"

                " _Oh_ we're just enjoying the view, for the time." Dorian's snarky response was like music to Varlen's ears, and he smiled to himself as he pulled himself up the last few metres to breach the crest of the incline. He dragged himself over, kicking his boot free of a snare of tangled branches as he hauled himself to his feet. Breathing in deep, he gazed down at the area, and felt his pulse begin to race. Blazing green light reflected in his pale eyes like a mirror.

                "Uh... _Riv_..."

                "What?" His sister's strained response was close-by. For a mage, she was ridiculously agile - she would have probably put him to shame if he hadn't had a head-start. But sibling rivalry was the least of his concerns. As Riven hauled herself up beside him, a crackling sound filled the air, and suddenly their position above the rise matched the iridescent green of the field below, brilliant and blinding. Varlen swallowed, his eyes flicking from Riven's now blazing mark and the beyond field.

                "... The scouts weren't kidding. That _is_ a big rift."

                Riven nodded gravely, holding onto the wrist of her left hand as the mark came to life against her skin. Her gaze never left the area below, but those piercing eyes did narrow suddenly as she noticed something strange. She leaned forward a touch, pushing aside some branches to get a clearer view. When she did, she suddenly froze, as though seized by an unseen force, and when she spoke, the words fell urgently from her lips.

                "Varlen - there are people down there!"

 

***

 

                "Caulder, Isett, Sorin - fall back!" Anacrea's voice rang out over the roar of the rift, sharp and cutting, her eyes narrowing fiercely as she stepped away from the void flaring dangerously above them. Upon her word, three of her front-line soldiers began a hasty retreat, falling into formation behind her and joining with the main group. Battered and bloody, _but alive_. Jaw clenched, Anacrea threw a sharp glance back over her shoulder, performing a head-count with one efficient sweep of her amber eyes.

                ... _Six._

                They lost Reid. _Damn it._ He was the second one today.

                Another roaring pulse from the rift tore her attention back to the immediate threat, and for a moment the giant scar in the sky seemed about to tear itself apart at the seams, thrashing like a beast ensnared within a net. She held her arm out to the side and began to step backwards slowly, indicating for the others to follow suit, placing some much needed distance between them and the unnatural mar on the heavens.

                _"L-Lady Trevelyan?"_ Sorin - a young soldier, still wet behind the ears - practically squeaked her name, and Anacrea could just picture his wide blue eyes staring in terror at the sky, a prayer to the Maker trembling just before his lips. Poor kid - he shouldn't be here.

_None of them should be here._

                "Stay behind me." She ordered, her grip tightening on her staff, Stormbreaker. Its gemmed tip flared with a furious white light, as though presenting a challenge to the rift’s own glow, and for a moment, a pang of doubt struck the mage as she eyed the threat. _What was happening?_ It had never done anything like that before. _Some kind of magical interference, perhaps?_ But how could that be possible - she was the only mage present?

                Anacrea was about to open her mouth to give further orders to fall back when suddenly a deep crack echoed throughout the clearing, reverberating within the marrow of her bones. The sound that followed was faint at first; a whisper in the ear. But with each passing moment, it rolled like thunder, booming and swelling until it was as though the sound was trapped within her skull. Behind her, she heard the sound of strained whimpers and of blades being abandoned to the dirt as her soldiers clawed at their heads with terrified fingers.

                Gritting her teeth against the assault, Anacrea squeezed her eyes shut with a flinch. Then, she focused, bringing two fingers to her forehead and pressing them hard against her sweat-soaked skin. _Concentrating -_ finding her centre, despite the tumult in her mind. Despite the nails _screeching_ down the inside of her skull...

                …

                … _There_.

                 The deafening sound within her head suddenly dimmed, smothered beneath her own mental barrier, granting her enough control to open her eyes and steel herself for what was to come. Whatever was causing that roar...  Maker, _its force of will alone_...

                Her skin crawled at the prospect.

                Whatever was about to come through that rift was going to be _bad_.

                No, not just bad.

 _Terrible_.

                They would not survive this. Demons of rage and terror? Fine. Of despair and desire? Manageable.

                But _this?_

                Anacrea feared she knew what was about to emerge. She could feel it in her gut; see the images from pages of tomes older than the circle, faded and yellow but _vital_ , burnt onto the back of her eyelids. Descriptions of beasts of towering proportion; horned like devils, roaring like dragons, laughing like kings whose minds had cracked.

                This was it, then. They were too few - too broken. It was over. And it was _her fault_.

                _She_ had made the call to stay – asked them to throw their lives away. And for what? For the villagers? The _farmers_? What made their lives more important than those of her soldiers? The rift’s unnatural hue glowed in her eyes, warping and straining dangerously, and grim realisation slowly crept up on her like a disease. She knew what she had to do.

                “Isett.”

                “Y… Yes, m’lady?” One of her soldiers – a mature woman, strong of will and stronger of arm – moved up beside her. Her face was contorted in pain as the bellowing sound resonated through the air around them, so penetrating that it made their teeth ache in their mouths. Anacrea’s voice strained to be heard over the din.

                “Take the others and head north. When you arrive at the coast, board a ship to the Free Marches and return to Ostwick.” Anacrea’s eyes never left the rift, but she saw Isett stiffen slightly at her words. With clenched teeth, the mage gripped her staff just a bit tighter. “ _Understood_?”

                “B-But my lady--” Isett began haltingly, only to be cut off by a gaze from Anacrea that was so sharp it could serve as a weapon.

                “--That is an order. Now _go_.” She was becoming acutely aware of the ever-growing roar of the strange magic – her own mental guard was beginning to waver. Even the ground was beginning to quake in fear. If they were to leave, they had to do it _now_. It still felt odd – to be in command of soldiers. But when Captain Ryleigh fell a few weeks ago, _someone_ had to step up.

                So she did.

                “I can’t do this to you.” Isett hissed, her brown eyes imploring as she grabbed Anacrea’s arm as though the action alone could somehow force her to change her mind. _Oh Isett._ But the mage simply turned her face away, her attention honing in on the rift with cold detachment. It lit her face with dancing green light, catching on each strand of her short ebony hair, reflecting like shattered glass. There was no time for sentiment.

                “Then do it for _them_.”

                Out of the corner of her eye, Anacrea saw Isett grit her teeth, her resolve beginning to waver. Then, after a moment’s pause, the woman dropped her gaze to the ground, her free hand balled into a shaking fist at her side. Sensing the grim reality of the situation, the woman exhaled and, one hesitant finger at a time, relinquished her grasp on Anacrea’s sleeve. A part of Anacrea knew how hard this must be for her; Isett had been a personal guard for House Trevelyan ever since she was a child. She was practically family.  

                “You listen to me; you had better meet us at the coast, Anacrea. I have no intention of delivering bad news to your family, am I clear?”

                Some of the tightness in Anacrea’s chest lessened at Isett’s indirect agreement to follow the command, and the mage allowed herself one long, measured breath as the soldier spun on her heel and marched back to the other five, who now once again clutched their weapons in trembling hands. Isett would see them safely back to Ostwick. _Maker_ – _most of the ones who remained were so young._ No. They could not end here. She could not, in good conscience, allow them to throw their lives away. She heard the sound of blades being sheathed, and for the briefest of moments, allowed herself to close her eyes and just _breathe_. Just for a few seconds.

_Good._

                Anacrea took one step towards the rift, then another, her shoulders squaring with each movement as though her final destination gave her purpose. As though choosing her fate hardened her resolve to meet the void head-on. There was too much blood on her hands already. One life sacrificed to save six was _more_ than fair, considering how many she had sacrificed along the way. She would receive no better deal from a demon.

                Like a tempest, the magic tearing the veil lashed out wildly, striking earth and air alike in a furious barrage of raw energy as it tried and failed to retain its shape. Faintly, Anacrea was aware of the sound of footsteps – hesitant at first – but eventually picking up pace as the few who remained of her escort fled towards the hills. Yet, despite their departure, Anacrea felt no sorrow. With the way things were going, they would likely meet again all too soon. She just hoped she could buy them a few more months.

                A flurry of light – blazing and blinding – struck out and slammed to the ground less than twenty yards ahead of her, forming a ragged tear through the air. She wheeled back, throwing her arm before her face, igniting a barrier out of reflex to stand between her and the scorching earth.

                Then, _thudding_.

                Like the drums of a funeral march, only louder. _Booming_. Her heart thrummed in time, and with one final almighty burst of green energy, a massive figure emerged from the void. It rose to its full height, silhouetted against its unnatural backdrop, but despite Anacrea's inability to make out any detail, it was utterly unmistakable.

 _Pride_.

                The beast twisted its head from side to side, as though stretching out a century's worth of taut muscle, its yellowed teeth bared in a gnashing grin as it finally found its lone challenger. As it turned to face her head-on, Anacrea's own face twisted into a snarl, all pretence of calm abandoned now that she had no audience bar herself and an abomination. She was finished; but she was sure as _hell_ not going to go down without a fight.

                The demon regarded her for a moment, but to her surprise, it elected not to speak. She had always read that such creatures would try to break mankind's spirit; tear a person down by turning them on themselves. But this beast, for whatever reason, did not waste words on attempted persuasion. It simply grinned further, its long tongue lashing out like a snake as another laugh rolled from its chest, echoing into the air.

                Then, _it began_.

                The pride demon charged, its head low, horns aimed directly at Anacrea - but she was ready. Spinning to the side, she slammed her staff down, a bolt of electricity lancing from it in an arc, striking the beast on the back of its neck. _A direct hit._ It growled, its advance wavering as the residue of the strike crackled over its skin, momentarily hindering its movement. _Good_. Anacrea widened her stance, bracing herself, raising her staff over her head as the wind around her whipped itself into frenzy, her robes billowing like a lone standard upon a battlefield. A fool’s paradise.

                There was no sense in holding back now.

                She spun her staff in the air, as though drawing energy from the raging air that surged around her, then with one last pulse, sent a barrage of energy crashing into the demon. The raw magic slammed into it, forcing it to stagger backwards from the impact. But it was not having anywhere near the effect Anacrea had hoped. All she was able to do was slow it down, but no matter how many times she struck it, be it with staff or storm, it kept on coming, stalled but never stopped. Anacrea soon found herself forced on the defensive, constantly moving, attempting to keep enough distance between herself and the Pride demon to avoid those swinging claws or lashes of conjured lightning that so resembled her own. Sweat poured down her brow as she continued their macabre dance, stalling the inevitable but refusing to run.

 _No. She would never run_.

                "Get back!"

                Another voice, fierce and commanding, splintered through the air like a shard of ice, startling Anacrea from her furious thoughts and causing her to turn sharply towards the source, lightning already crackling at her fingertips in anticipation. Her eyes widened briefly as a figure tore across the plains from the nearby forest.

                A woman? _An elf?_

                Her eyes were instantly drawn to a blazing light barely contained with the figure's palm as she charged from the tree-line, her face fixed in an expression of pure determination. The light in her grasp burned with the same intensity as the rift itself, and pulsed in time with each cracking burst; a harmony in an otherworldly symphony. Realisation dawned on Anacrea, and a surge of energy blossomed within her chest, imbuing her with strength she did not know she had left. She whirled back towards the demon, slamming her staff to the ground, a blast of energy cracking from the point of impact to keep the demon's focus on her. Anacrea had heard the rumours. The whispers between scouts; the gossip among townsfolk.

                It was _her_.

                The Herald.

                _The Inquisitor._

                "This ends now." Anacrea hissed to herself, triumph blazing in her eyes. _This changes everything_. The rift itself exploded to life as the Inquisitor neared, both the mark and the tear in the veil pulsing almost blindingly, before a guttural roar shook the earth and heavens alike.

                The demon threw back its head, shoulders heaving in grim delight, and suddenly another flood poured from the rift.

_Demons…_

                 Maker, _everywhere_.

                 Even with the Inquisitor, Anacrea knew this might not end well. She responded instantly, targeting a rage demon and calling upon the frosts of winter to encase it. The demon shuddered as its attempt to advance was suddenly halted by brittle crystals, which formed over its fiery body like a tomb, defying nature to remain frozen in face of such overwhelming heat. But it would not be enou—

                — Anacrea’s thoughts were interrupted by a giant fist of stone, ripped from the earth itself, crashing thunderously into the frozen demon, sending it exploding into a thousand icy shards that scattered like hailstones upon the ground. Wide eyed, Anacrea’s gaze met that of the Inquisitor, who threw her a hasty sharp nod as she shifted back to a defensive stance, her eyes honing in on the Pride demon with fiery determination. Anacrea exhaled sharply, once again on the offensive as a group of shades began to approach.

                _Not bad. Not bad at all._

                At least the Inquisitor was more than a mere symbol. Maker’s breath; she could _fight_.

                **_Thhhhhhwwmmmt!_**

Anacrea started back as something raced straight past her, and a piercing scream sounded to her left. One of the shades reeled back, its hooked hands clawing at an object embedded deep within its chest. _A bolt?_ Heart pounding, she realised that she had no time to investigate the matter – even more demons had spawned from the rift, and as it currently stood, they were hopelessly outnumbered.

                “Maker – look at the size of that one!” A deep voice declared in a mix of awe and dismay as Anacrea finished off the shade and a couple of wraiths with a careful barrage.  With her present position no longer under direct threat of being overwhelmed, she spared a second to glance in the direction of the voice. A dwarf had joined the fray, all chest hair and jawline, firing an incredible looking crossbow into the hoard of demons with impunity. She blinked for a moment, taken aback, before a large figure suddenly blocked the dwarf from her vision. Immediately, she shifted into an offensive stance, but when she looked up at the face of the imposing creature, she was greeted by a smirk and a nod, and nothing more. The massive Qunari moved straight past her, swinging his great-axe as though it were a child’s toy. Shaking her head, Anacrea had to simply accept that they must have been companions to the Inquisitor.

                Speaking of whom… Anacrea returned her attention to the elven woman, who was now circling just out of range of the Pride demon, its attention now hers and hers alone. The mark on her hand crackled dangerously, clenched firmly by her side as she dodged one of the demons massive swings with swift feet. Upon her skin clung pale shards, moulded to her like frozen armour, occasionally chipping when a loose stone was sent hurtling in her direction from the demon’s mighty strikes. But the massive beast was not the only one interested in the Inquisitor; more demons began to surge in her direction, as though drawn to the mark on her hand, forming a deadly ring around her, trapping her in the middle. Anacrea’s grip tightened on Stormbreaker, and she started forward, but the white-haired woman was already moving.

                She dropped low, slamming her palm to the ground, and with a pulse of magic, each of the advancing abominations were suddenly dragged in, despite their best attempts to claw their way out of the effect. The Inquisitor gritted her teeth, maintaining the spell. Then, she stood, finishing her attack with a clench of her fist to a symphony of otherworldly shrieks. The area around her pulsed with what could only be described as an implosion of magical energy, before dispersing into the air, leaving nothing but twitching remains in its wake.

                _Well,_ Anacrea thought as she ceased advancing in the woman’s direction, instead focusing on another group of demons that had ripped their way through the veil. _That takes care of that_.

                The sound of metal on metal dragged Anacrea’s attention away from the pride demon and its target, and she found herself racing towards another elf, locked in desperate combat with two spider-limbed creatures, each one lashing out with its clawed hands in an attempt to gut and tear. He was holding his own, surprisingly, a blur of silver hair and steel, dodging and weaving between strikes as though he had rehearsed it every night in his sleep. His feet moved with a grace one would expect of a dancer rather than a fighter, but despite his skill, she watched as alarm flickered in his eyes when a shade suddenly decided to join in the fray. Two he may have been able to handle, but _three?_

                His distraction cost him; one of the terror demons managed to land a blow, sending him reeling backwards, the strike succeeding in knocking him prone as he lost his footing on the churning earth. One of his blades flew from his grasp, but he managed to keep hold of the other, bringing it in front of him just in time to block one of the long-limbed creatures as it lunged, its jaw snapping mere centimetres from his head, dagger wedged within its gaping maw. Anacrea, still running, raised her staff and called upon the storm, a bolt striking down from the sky in answer to her command. It struck the terror demon that stood a few feet from the elven man, the smell of burning flesh all too familiar to the exhausted mage as she drew closer to its shuddering form. But she had not been the only one to leap to the fallen rogue’s defence.

                There was a burst of heat, agonising and bright, and before Anacrea could even register what had happened, the swiftly advancing shade screamed itself out of existence, engulfed in seconds and left to smoulder upon the cracking earth. Out of the corner of her eye, Anacrea was vaguely aware of another figure fighting against the tide of demons, his magic searing through the air with furious precision. Another mage, then? _Good._ It was nice not being the only one. They could use all the magic they could get.

                But they were not out of the woods yet; there was still the last terror demon, currently raking at the arms of the pinned man, who was still somehow managing to hold it at bay with nothing but a dagger and a torrent of elven curse-words. It was too dangerous to use spells of fire or lightning; the demon was too close to him. If the spell was off by even a fraction, the elf could risk serious injury, if not death. Most spells would be rendered useless by such a situation.

                _Most_.

                Anacrea threw herself into the fray, getting in closer than any mage ever had a right to. The terror demon’s head jerked to the side, twisting at a grotesque angle to view the new threat, shrieking in a way that made Anacrea’s very bones ache. But she pushed through the agony, and extended her left hand behind her as she breached the final gap that separated her from the thrashing creature. As though sensing what was to come, the terror demon attempted to disengage, but the elven man suddenly shifted tact, stabbing his dagger into one of its arms and using his free hand to snag the other, holding it in place above him.

 _Perfect_.

Anacrea’s eyes flashed and she brought her arm swinging forward, an ethereal form manifesting around it, extending from her fingertips like a blade. She met her mark with the deep hum of magic, and with a mighty swing, the head of the creature was severed straight from its torso. Its decapitated form shuddered and collapsed to the ground, its body twitching like that of an insect. It did not take long for the remains to be thrown aside by the elf who, judging by the disgusted look on his face, was far from enjoying his present situation.

                “Agh… Thanks.” He managed to gasp, and Anacrea offered her hand to him. After a moment’s hesitation, where she felt the full intensity of his icy stare upon her, he accepted it with a filth-soaked glove. However, as she pulled him up, his expression darkened suddenly, and his blade and her eyes widened in shock as he pulled her flush against him, dagger-hand striking forward in a violent rush.

                A scream sounded in her ear, hot air rushing against her skin, and Anacrea jerked her head to the side, the face of a shade hovering almost directly over her shoulder. Its face was twisted into the grim mask of death as the elven man twisted the dagger he had embedded in its stomach, before pulling it out with a jerk, leaving the creature to crumple to the ground. Still pressed together, Anacrea felt her heart hammering loudly within her ribcage. _Maker, that was close._

                “Well done.” She said simply, and was rewarded by a dazzling smile as they both disengaged from one another, once again moving to continue quelling the seemingly never-ending tide. Retaining her focus, Anacrea continued with close-combat, preferring to work with the two fighters in the thick of the battle and allow the other mage and archer to provide ranged support. The sweat upon Anacrea’s brow was beginning to run down her face, and as the fight dragged on, she became aware of fatigue encroaching upon not only herself, but the others. Movements were slowing. Shots were missing. Blows were glancing. They had to end this soon, before they were all overwhelmed.

                Suddenly, as Anacrea was mid-swing, now side-by-side with the massive Qunari, the air grew heavy and took on a thick, green hue. As she turned to look for the source, Anacrea’s heart sunk as she saw what appeared to be a second rift suddenly manifest in a cracking burst. For a moment, her breath seized in her throat, horrified that their problems had just doubled. But as quickly as the terror began its surge through her veins, it quelled, her eyes coming to rest on the Inquisitor, whose mark was blazing and directed at the new rift, controlling it with tense muscles and a face contorted in bitter concentration. Her teeth were bared, her arm shaking, the giant demon before her badly injured but not through fighting yet. Then, in a flash of light so brilliant Anacrea was forced to look away, the now bloodied pride demon bellowed in agony, appearing to disintegrate piece by piece as the Inquisitor’s attack struck it with terrifying force, wiping it from existence with an insidious green blast before collapsing in on itself, abandoning the material plane. Without even waiting another second to relish the victory, the elven woman turned her blazing sights onto the rift itself, raising her hand, palm out, towards it. Anacrea could do nothing but stare in a mixture of shock and relief as the rift lashed out towards her, connecting with the mark on her hand, _fusing with it,_ before it too exploded violently out of existence with an almighty boom.

                The silence that followed was… deafening. There was just… _nothing_. No cracking of unknown magic, tearing from the sky. No shrieking of demons or man or _both_. No metal or blood being drawn. No whimpering or shouting or cursing. Just…

                … Anacrea suddenly felt her knees go weak, and she finally allowed her body to do what it had been yearning to for weeks now. She collapsed to her knees, staring blankly at where the rift had been – furious and gaping – now nothing but still air. It was over. _It was actually over_.

                “Are you alright?”

                The voice that washed over her was smooth as velvet, and she glanced across to see a handsome mage with one of the most perfect examples of facial grooming she had ever laid eyes on leaning down towards her, his eyes concerned. She closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath, forcing herself to regain some element of composure.

                “I… Yes. I’m fine.” She responded slowly, but when she made no attempt to move, the other mage straightened, folding his arms with an amused look upon his face.

“Ah. _Of course_. Tell me; can you get up?”

                “…”

                “I’ll take that as a no.” He finished, a chuckle still floating on his voice, and the next thing she knew, his hand was extended before her, immaculate and smooth.

                “Dorian Pavus, at your humble service. It seems you’ve been keeping yourself rather busy.”

                “You could say that.” Anacrea replied cagily, her eyes trailing over him for a moment, taking him in. The man _reeked_ of Tevinter. But, he had done nothing to earn her disdain as of that moment, so she reached out and accepted his offered hand. Slowly, he eased her back to her feet, her legs shaky but otherwise supporting her as she braced herself against his shoulders, teeth gritted. When she was finally standing, she glanced across at him, rewarded by an approving smirk.

                “There; not so hard, was it?”

                Anacrea did not grace him with an answer. But another voice quickly captured her attention.

                “Here, this might help.”

                Anacrea’s eyes flicked to its source, meeting once again with that of the elven man she had both aided and been aided by during the fight. He was holding her staff, presenting it to her with a charming half-smile, his expression weary but kind. She returned the expression, accepting Stormbreaker from his grasp and using it to help support her weight, allowing her to extract herself from the other mage’s hold.

                “Thank you.” She cleared her throat, straightening as well as she could despite her aching limbs, acknowledging the various members of the group as they came to join her, the Inquisitor herself being the last to arrive.

_What an… unusual bunch._

                She supposed that after what she’d just witnesses; a mortal woman sealing the fade with a gesture; _anything_ was possible. The elven woman approached, her gaze steady and bright, as though still fuelled by adrenaline from the fight. After all, she had practically single-handedly taken down a pride demon – Anacrea of all people knew that was no mean feat.

                “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said suddenly, holding out her hand, a slight smile tugging at her full lips, “my name is Riven Lavellan.”

                “Anacrea Trevelyan.” She accepted the Inquisitor’s offered hand, and her grip was strong, as Anacrea expected. “It is… good to finally meet you too, Inquisitor.”

                Riven inclined her head in acknowledgement, and the two women released one another. A thought crossed Anacrea’s mind, and a weak smile flickered upon her lips as she set her sights on the distant hills.

                “I’m sure there are many people in the nearby village who would like to thank you for what you’ve done here. They have been living in fear ever since the explosion at the Conclave. You should pay them a visit before you leave.” Anacrea was exhausted, the words crawling from her tongue as though weighing like bricks. The big Qunari was the first to respond, a laugh rumbling deep within his chest.

                “Sounds like a plan to me; what do you say, Boss?”

                “I think we could all use a bit of a break, sure.” Riven shrugged, and Anacrea was amazed at her sheer stamina. After the magic she had performed… that mark must somehow help fuel some of her spells. Maker - it was the only way Anacrea could _explain_ how she was still standing. Perhaps it did not work like regular magic, which frankly, wouldn’t surprise her in the slightest. She’d love to ask her more about it, but...

                “… So, are you going to tag along, Vixen? Doesn’t seem like there’s much left for you here.” The voice was light, yet somehow tinged with a gentle persuasion that surprised Anacrea as she gazed down at their dwarven companion, his crossbow now resting snugly against his back. _Why would she go with them? Why would they want her to? They had no idea who she was. And what was ‘Vixen’?_

                “I—“ she began, but the other elf in their band of misfits spoke up first, cutting her off.

                “— You’re about to _drop_.” Anacrea concealed her flinch as he stated the obvious, but it was not designed to be insulting, and he continued hastily after seeing her reaction. “What I mean is… you should probably see a healer. I’m sure there’s one in the village who can look over you.”

                Anacrea’s eyes lingered on his for a moment, before trailing down to his arms, red soaking into the shredded fabric where the terror demon had repeatedly gouged him.

                “As should you, it seems. Quickly, too.”

                A feeble smile wavered on his lips, and his index finger twitched gingerly as a bead of blood dripped from it. “ _Yeah_ , I’m trying not to think about it. But you’re right. So… the sooner the better?”

                The pause that followed that stretched on for what felt like minutes, but Anacrea knew it had to have only been seconds. Then, despite everything. Despite the pain, and the fatigue, and the _loss_ …

                … She smiled.

 

            **“Yeah. Let’s go.”**


End file.
